


Helpful

by chelonianmobile



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Amporabuse, Asexuality, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Kink Meme, M/M, Murder, Rape, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 13:24:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelonianmobile/pseuds/chelonianmobile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eridan's made his choices. His friends think they know better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helpful

Sixty minutes. No sense in stalling any longer. You tap the tops of the bottles; one of painkillers, one of sleeping pills. You can knock back the whole of each bottle with the aid of the brandy you've been saving, and with luck the drone's job will be done for it; if not at least you won't notice.

You're hesitating. You don't know why. You've planned this for half your life, ever since you found that website which explained so much, the underground network of those who felt as you did. They offered a matchmaking service, joining up those who wanted someone just for the night pails were due, but you had tried many times and been unable to face it. No, you'd rather take some control in your own way. It had been a wrench but you'd broken up with your quadrants and helped them find new ones, no sense taking them with you. You did everything you wanted to do tonight; tidy hive, delicious food, hot bath, comfortable but respectable clothing (this is a _noble's_ death, not some whiny six-sweep-old slitting his wrists), goodbye notes to friends and farewell to your lusus (sent out solo tonight, his reins and saddle hung up for the last time - he'll find a new wiggler soon enough). Your curtains are shut; it seems a shame to waste the beautiful night. Yes, you'll go with the moonlight on your face. You get up, open the curtains, and nearly render the pills unnecessary with a bloodpusher attack. Vriska and Gamzee are waving at you from the rocks outside.

"Wwhat the _fuck_ are you guys doing here?" you scream out the window, realising you've broken the handle in your haste to get it open. 

Gamzee gives Vriska a boost and before you can stop her she's climbing through the window and pulling him in after her. You back up, knocking your wizard statuettes over as you bump into a table.

"Helping you out, little fishy!" Gamzee says, grinning.

"Helping?..." Your eyes widen as he and Vriska each produce a pail, his red, hers black. "No! No, this isn't helpin' at all!"

Vriska ignores you and cackles. "See, we heard you were still doing this stupid 'non-concupiscent' thing, and we thought we'd give you a hand! You should be happy, took quite a bit of quadrant juggling. You put us to quiiiiiiiite a lot of work! But our mates aren't as stubborn as you, we found them some friends with gaps to fill so you get to see some familiar faces. Come on, it's easy. For old time's sake, Dualscar?"

"Don't call me that," you hiss, backing towards the cabinet you put Ahab's Crosshairs in; why did you take it out of your specibus? You won't have any descendants to find it, why does it matter if it's damaged with your demise? You dive for the cabinet and Gamzee intercepts you with a bearhug; fuck, he's huge now, and nearly as strong as Equius. You thrash and kick with no effect.

"C'mon, little fishy," he coos, one arm wrapping around your ribcage while the other works at your waistband. He soon gives up on your fly buttons and simply tears straight through the cloth, leaving shreds around your legs. "What would our motherfuckin' bros think if we let you go meet the messiahs alone now?"

"No- I- don't- wwant-" you choke out as he sits down, hooking a leg over yours and pinning your arms to your sides. "... don't wwant this."

"You'll thank us when we get the buckets in," Vriska says, dropping her pants in a businesslike manner. It really hits you what they're doing; you sob uncontrollably, fluid leaking from your eyes and nose and gills. 

Gamzee kisses your fins and shooshes you. Does he have to bring pale gestures into this too? "Maybe if you do it right this time you won't mind it."

"This is your idea of right?" you scream, before she climbs into your lap, jams her hand in place, and stifles you with a toothy kiss.

In your thinkpan, you can't imagine being less turned on. Unfortunately, your thinkpan and your body always had something of a disconnect on that score, and you can feel the creeping slimy warmth which used to mean you needed five minutes with a bucket and a quick bath and now means you have no hope of getting out of this. She's dripping hot fluids onto your legs, and Gamzee's managed to work his pants open and there's more wetness on your back; it feels like an enormous leech crawling up your spine, your stomach churns, and Vriska hisses "Don't you dare throw up on me." She slides down, trapping you, and you wail shrilly between your teeth.

You keep your eyes on the pill bottles until she's done.

You shudder as she forces out the last drop from you, and sag into a puddle of tears when she unwinds from you and crouches over the bucket. The sound of fluid hitting metal makes your stomach churn again. Gamzee's kissing your fins again and murmuring "Good, good little motherfucker, see, it's not so bad," and you remember with horror that there's another bucket to fill.

They haul your limp form upright between them and Gamzee pins you to the wall, bucket between your feet, and this time there is _pain,_ real pain, and when you realise this is just from his finger you think you really will be sick. He tries to prep you but you're too tense for it to do any good and he gives up on that and starts anyway. For a moment you think he won't fit at all, but he ruins that hope quickly and pain rips through you worse than before. Why does he have to do this too? One bucket would satisfy the drone. You guess they just wanted to do things properly. Good for them, you think bitterly, before you swear you feel something tear inside you and you scream again.

Gamzee strokes your hair and your back, whispers and croons and kisses, makes a mockery of matespritship. Good thing you're standing over the bucket; you're stretched so far you'd never hold anything inside, and your fluids and his run directly into the pail and onto the floor, and suddenly but not soon enough he's done.

Twenty minutes left. You fill them staring at the wall, tears running freely down your face, your breath hitching. Your clothes are beyond repair, and you're bleeding. Gamzee sits beside you, humming soothingly and stroking your hair, as Vriska picks up the knocked-over table and wipes splatters off the floor.

"There, little fishbro, ain't it good to up and get your pipes flushed out, heh? Hey, smile, you should be feeling so much motherfuckin' better now. Honk!"

"Stop crying, you giant wuss!" Vriska pulls you up, drags off your ruined pants, tugs your shirt straight, rubs tears off your face with a rough thumb. "Don't show weakness in front of the drone, sheeeeeeeesh."

You look at their faces. They're so happy. So proud. They still think they're helping you.

Light and the thumping sound of a landing jerk you from your shocked state. Your helpful friends beam at each other, and decaptchalogue and line up their pre-filled buckets from their other quadrants - their real quadrants, not this travesty. In the middle of your horror for yourself you feel platonic pity for Vriska's real kismesis and Gamzee's real matesprit; they abandoned them for you? Vriska almost dances to the door and opens it before the drone can knock. The terrifying figure squeezes through the door and glares expectantly at you, the buckets in its hands (much bigger than the little pails you just filled) half-full with others' contributions, ready and waiting.

"Hiiiiiiii!" Vriska says cheerfully to it. "No need to keep you waiting, we're all done! No thanks to Mister Ampora," she says darkly.

"Hey, spidersis, don't be motherfuckin' mean," Gamzee says, embracing and kissing you again. You're too shocked to resist. You cast one last wistful glance at your pills. "Little fishy just gotta have some friends watchin' out for him, right, bro?"

You look them in the eyes and with one swift motion you kick all four of the buckets over.


End file.
